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Prince Nalderick departed Majesty in secret and haste, needing to reach the source of that gut-wrenching turmoil. His world had caved in like an eggshell, upended completely, despite so-called friends and their lying promises.
Two staggering blows had fallen nearly on top of each other. First, Vernax died, and the emperor (Grandfather!) lost the gods’ favor. Then… like everyone else, he’d felt it at once… the exiled prince was pardoned; his rank and honor restored by imperial decree.
…And that changed everything else.
The docked golden airship seethed with sudden, tense speculation and awe, but Nalderick met no one’s gaze and answered no questions. He simply left, burning up all his manna to misty-step off of the dreadnought’s command deck. Alone.
Nalderick Valinor ob Korvin wasn’t much of a mage. He had very few spells, depending mostly on his companions and servants for transport, shielding and sustenance. Not this time. Nalderick’s status had changed, and with it, his right to command. He had too much pride to give orders that others might question.
His first spasmodic leap took him away from Majesty, depositing Nalderick at the top of a park-like, floating small island. Best view in all Karellon, meant only for those of the blood imperial. There, amid fey-wild plants and chattering streams, the dark-haired young prince took stock.
Genevera was off in the north with her new, soggy husband. This cataclysm had affected her, too (he could feel his sister trying to contact him) but Genna was safe enough with the sea-elves, and he would not stoop to seeking her aid.
He was no longer the Prince Attendant, a thing that he grasped immediately, in the manner of nobles. He could wear a circlet of rank or not, as he chose, but his status was easily sensed by all other high-elves. Still royal, through Korvin and Princess Marika, his parents. Knocked down the line of succession by Alexion’s unexpected pardon and restoration to power.
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Nalderick collapsed to a seat on the nearest rock-crystal bench, drawing a black velvet cloak over his lowered head. War-bells sounded from far below, shaking the air all around him. He would have been emperor. Would have ridden the dragon. Ruled from a golden throne. And now…
Gone. All of it. Nalderick wanted to die but wouldn’t let himself utter that last, awful curse. He still had his duty to the empire, which had been plunged into sudden, horrific turmoil. His grandfather had fallen from power. The new claimant, this Prince Alexion, was very far off. (A thing he could sense through connection of blood.) In the meantime, the realm was without a strong hand at the tiller; reduced to the rule of a council, at a moment when Arvendahl’s last-magic bane had sunk its fangs into the royal family. When Chaos was gaining ascendance.
Nalderick dragged the cloak off his head and lurched to his feet as someone else ported over, illegally. Lady Solara, who had no right to stand there (was floating, in fact; attacked by the island’s magical shield). She glowed with dark fire, blocking his view of the wonderful city and palace below. The palace he would have reigned in.
“Are you just going to accept this, Your Highness?” whispered the beautiful sorceress. Behind her, Nalderick could sense others; Scander, Captain Prentiss, his courtball team and a handful of loyal courtiers. Solara spoke for them all. “Are you going to allow that liar to claim what is rightfully yours?”
She circled him like a sleek golden cat, all but weaving between his legs, shielded somehow from the enchanted island’s defenses. Elegant, blonde and very persuasive.
“How can a pardoned criminal and his lot of northern bumpkins rule better than Korvin, your royal father? How could any of those curs be more fit for the throne than you, My Prince?”
So… he had bedded her once, on a dare. A very uncomfortable fact. The connection between them gave extra weight to her whispers, as though she wove magic from drunken caresses and meaningless words. That shared past made Nalderick tolerate her slow encirclement. Made him put up with the slim hand that she placed on his trembling shoulder.
“You are not alone, Highness. Many support you. Will you not fight this injustice? For them, for yourself and your heirs by the Lady Sheraza? I have foreseen it, My Prince. Aid in her quest to slay the liar. Reclaim your place in the line of succession… and Lady Sheraza is yours.”
Her violet eyes burned with magic and something… someone… else. Nalderick sensed that a mightier wizard than Solara was shifting his pieces about on the gameboard, arranging a final move. And one of those pieces was him.
Prince Nalderick had a decision to make. A glorious destiny to claim, or to just walk away from.